


The Funny Farm

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Reformed Villain, Rogues Gallery, Second Chances, mental health, platonic friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley Quinn finally gets her life in order and is a reformed woman. Only problem is it's hard out there for a career criminal with multiple strikes on her record, but the good news is she's got a certain pointy-eared vigilante watching her back, whether she wants him to or not. And for better or for worse, she'll get through this somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Funny Farm

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an experiment. A friend gave me this awesome idea of Harley Quinn finally sticking the landing with her reform as seen in "Harley's Holiday" and inadvertently becoming Batman's pseudo-psychiatrist as he checks in on her nightly. Not sure how long this'll go on for, but I've always loved Harley and since Suicide Squad thoroughly pissed me off with how it portrayed her, I want to take an introspective glancing at how she might fare at trying to go straight. 
> 
> One thing I've always loved about Harley is that she is one of the few villains who actually has a relationship with Batman. They've held at least three conversations that I consider to be very important to her overall character, and that's what I want to focus on with this fic. I love that Batman genuinely gives a shit about her well-being, as he does about a lot of his rogues gallery, and so that's mainly what this is going to be about. Don't worry about romance or shipping; there won't be any.
> 
> In terms of the continuity, let's say this picks up after "Harley's Holiday" but before "Mad Love" in Batman: The Animated Series. Chapters will be posted as they come to me. Enjoy.

The world was a terrifying place. She knew this. She’d experienced it firsthand, in fact. She just never expected that one of the scariest things she’d ever seen was a plain yellow taxi cab sitting idle in the long, winding driveway up to Arkham Asylum.

“Hey, lady,” the cabbie grunted around a short stub of a cigar. “You gonna get in or keep starin’?”

“Keep ya shirt on,” Harleen Quinzel said, narrowing her crystal blue eyes at him. “I’m coming.”

She took a deep breath and turned towards the doctor standing behind her, offering her hand. “Thanks again, doc. I couldn’t have done this without ya.”

The female doctor smiled warmly. “I wish you the best of luck, Ms. Quinzel. You’ve earned it. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”

“With any luck, you’ll never hear from me again.” She waved and walked down the steps with her small suitcase, chucking it into the open trunk. Then she climbed in and drove away from Arkham Asylum.

Hopefully, for the last time ever.

“Where to, dollface?”

She pursed her lips at the moniker, but ignored it anyway. “4493 Montgomery Boulevard. And step on it. I could use a hot shower.”

“You and me both, toots.” The cab started forward. She watched the skeletal trees pass by the window, the branches waving in their midst. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a yew that almost looked like an enormous smile, and felt goosebumps pop up along her arms. She rubbed them and breathed deep, remembering her inner mantra carefully. There would always be things that reminded her of him. The trick was to keep it from controlling her.

Gotham didn’t look any different in the daylight, but to be honest, she liked it better without all the shadows. She had a certain pointy-eared vigilante to thank for it.

“So,” the cabbie said after they got stuck in Gotham’s other infamous patriot—traffic. “You’re the clown girl, right? Joker’s right-hand woman?”

Harley crossed her arms. “Used to be.”

The cabbie lifted his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You dumped the creep?”

“You could say that. I’m reformed.”

He said nothing. She frowned. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No offense, toots, but I seen you on the news before. They let you out once and in less than a day, you were back in the loony bin. It’s pretty hard goin’ straight.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it,” she sniffed. “People change their ways every day.”

“Yeah, normal people,” he snorted, adjusting the side mirror. “Not people who are in love with the Joker.”

Harley breathed hard through her nose. “Just drive.”

Ten minutes of stony silence later, and she found herself staring at a tall brick apartment complex in a less-than-nice part of town. The sidewalk was stained and permanently cracked, with no intent to be repaired. Trash littered the gutters. Rowdy children and teenagers chased each other around. A bum slept in an alleyway covered in crinkled newspaper.

Home.

She climbed out, retrieved her suitcase, gave the cabbie the lousiest tip imaginable, and then marched inside, her heart pounding with the fear and excitement of being on her own again. Of being free.

Of being alone.

She headed to the landlord’s office, beaming. “Hiya, Fullbrook! Miss me?”

“Harley, Harley, Harley,” the old man grinned, pushing up from his desk covered in pink notices and eviction letters. “How ya been, kiddo?”

“Got that loose screw in my head put back,” she said with a wink. “I’m all fixed and ready to rejoin society.”

“That’s good for you, kiddo. Same room?”

She nodded. “Same room.”

He opened the safe and tossed her a pair of keys. “The exterminator’s a day late, but he’ll be here tomorrow morning. It’s just the way you left it.”

“You’re the best!” She saluted him and then climbed the six flights of stairs up to her former apartment, where’d she’d been laying low during crime sprees for years. The elevator worked, but there was a good of a chance that it trapped in it for six days as there was it took her to the right floor, so she made the trek instead. Nothing had changed here, and it brought a strange amount of comfort to her.

She opened the door. The light from the hallway swept across the ancient wooden floors…and onto a pair of man’s black boots.

Harley didn’t hesitate. She chucked her suitcase at the intruder, not waiting to turn on the light or call for help. The stranger batted the suitcase away with a swipe of his muscular arm, giving her just enough time to aim a flying sidekick at the perpetrator. She hit him square in the chest and he landed on his back, giving her just a split second to pin his arms beneath her knees. She grabbed the fake flower pot from the dining table and hefted it, ready to smash his head in, when the light finally caught on his face and she realize who it was.

“ _Bats?_ ” she sputtered. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

The Caped Crusader remained on the floor, his deep voice vibrating through her legs as he replied rather calmly. “You’re early.”

Harley put the plant back on the table and got up, trying to get her frantic heartbeat under control. “I should have known you’d show up. Thanks for the heart attack.”

She knelt and started putting the scattered clothes back in the open suitcase while Batman stood to his feet, silent and unnerving as always. “So I guess you’re checking up on me? Or are you here to threaten me again?”

“The former,” he said, and to her utter shock, he handed her the stuffed kitten that had fallen out. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any… _surprises_ waiting for you when you got here.”

“Aside from you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

His mouth moved almost imperceptibly. She could have sworn he was hiding a smile, and that was just insane to think about. “There’s nothing here. I was on my way out when you came in.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, snapping the suitcase closed. “I’m a big girl, B-man. I can handle myself.”

“I never doubted that, but…” He narrowed those white lenses at her, and she felt a chill run down her spine. “If he finds out where you are, he’ll come for you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, throwing on a cocky grin. “I covered all my tracks. He’s never been to this place before, and the people here are all laying low, so they won’t fib. I’ll be back on my feet in no time flat.”

“I’m sure you will.” He turned and headed for the window, sliding it up. He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Congratulations. And be careful.”

He disappeared. She let out a huge gust of air and closed it back with a shaking hand. Well, she’d survived almost an hour in the real world. What’s another forty years?

* * *

She spent the remainder of the day cleaning the apartment. It was furnished, but everything was secondhand from the rug in the den to the bed frame. The only clothes she had were a few pairs of jeans, t-shirts, socks, and underwear, so she’d have to start her wardrobe over from scratch. Her first appointment with the shrink was in three days, and she’d have to make every available attempt to make progress so they wouldn’t get cold feet about her release. The first thing would be to find work. Being an infamous former villain, it wouldn’t come easy, but she still had friends she’d made even during her time as the Joker’s moll, so tomorrow she’d hit the streets.

The water didn’t stay hot long, but for about five solid minutes, she stayed under the weak showerhead and just savored the quiet hiss of the shower. A shower alone in her own apartment. It was sweeter than honey and chocolate and cotton candy mixed together.

She stared at her reflection. Her blonde locks were wavy and messy, plastered to her head instead of up in pigtails. She probably wouldn’t wear them that way anymore, to keep people from putting two and two together. She almost didn’t recognize her own face without the makeup, so used to that pale white and the faint scent of it under her nose. Understandably, they’d kept her costume. It was for the best.

“You’re gonna do great, Harl,” she murmured, absently drawing a smiley face in the steam on the mirror. “Just great.”

The moisture from the glass dripped down through the smiley face, turning it almost ghastly. She shivered and wiped it off before getting dressed.

The TV was one of those ancient old sets, and against her better judgment, she flipped on the news. About ten minutes in, sure enough, she found the news story she’d been looking for.

“On the more positive side, Harley Quinn, who most know as the accomplice of the Joker, was released from Arkham Asylum today for the fourth time. She completed a full six months of rehabilitation and is expected to rejoin society sane and with a new outlook on life.”

Harley smiled to herself and sipped her hot chocolate. “In related news, the Joker is still at large and if you have any information regarding his whereabouts, please call—”

She turned off the set. Her hands were shaking a bit. She exhaled and closed her eyes, imagining her anxiety as a wad of dough that she rolled between her fingers until it formed a ball and then smashed it flat with a rolling pin. That helped.

Harley tried to sleep for a while, but no matter how she tossed and turned, she couldn’t get comfortable. It wasn’t the mattress. Everything in the apartment was the same. She was the only thing that had changed.

She got up, made two cups of hot chocolate, put on her jacket, and then left the apartment.

She went up to the roof and walked over to the ledge on the same edge her apartment faced. Harley set the other mug on the ledge and leaned over, sipping her own. “Made ya some cocoa.”

She didn’t hear footsteps, but a moment later, Batman faded into view on her right. She shook her head. “Ya know, this could totally count as stalking.”

He didn’t reply. But he did drink the cocoa, to her great amusement. The Batman had a weakness for hot chocolate. Who knew?

She turned the mug in her hands, staring at her reflection. “Did you at least find out where he is?”

“Not yet,” the Batman said, rather softly. “I will.”

She nodded. “I could give ya a list of his usual haunts, if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary. He hasn’t revisited any in recent history, but…” He seemed to wince. “If you’re open to sharing information…”

“Doesn’t bother me as much as you think,” she admitted. “Part of the therapy is disassociating myself from feelings of guilt that he’s still out there, doing what he always does. It might actually help to unload, y’know.”

He produced a pen and tiny notepad from his utility belt, and she sat on the ledge, scribbling down places and the names of known associates who might hide him. He waited patiently, saying nothing. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother her. As a matter of fact, she welcomed the silence, and couldn’t figure out why. Maybe because Arkham was always full of sounds; inmates wailing away their anguish, broken laughter from the crackpots, growled threats, and occasional taunts from the security guards. It was never quiet in Arkham.

“That’s all I got,” she said finally, handing the items back to him. “Maybe something’ll turn up.”

“It will.” He turned on his heel. She nibbled her bottom lip as he unhooked the grapple and called out just before he shot it.

“Are you…gonna check up on me all week?”

He paused and gave her his profile, nodding once. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She shook her head, gathering the mugs. “Don’t expect a thank you.”

“I don’t.”

She walked back to the exit. “See you tomorrow, B-Man.”

She went back to her apartment and slept like a baby.

 


End file.
